


Mammillaria

by noncorporealform



Series: I Could Be The Human Kind [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Androids, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Bottom Connor, Crime Fighting, Cyborgs, First Time, Gender Identity, M/M, Pining, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Transhumanism, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noncorporealform/pseuds/noncorporealform
Summary: Connor is reinstated in the Detroit Police Department and is immediately presented with a crime involving cyborgs--humans who enhance themselves with android parts.In which Connor wants to spend time with Hank, solve some crimes, and answer a burgeoning question about his identity.





	Mammillaria

**Author's Note:**

> i made this for me, mostly. still wanted to share. it kind of came out in a week-long fever-dream so hopefully it makes a kind of sense.
> 
> this fic assumes the best 'everybody lives' ending. any variations will come out in the telling.

The garden was designed to be peaceful. Every polygon and pixel went toward creating a sense of tranquility, one meant to ease Connor into complacency. Once, it had been a regulatory gland in an otherwise autonomous mind palace. Now, it had shrunk to a ghost. 

The structures were beginning to fade, becoming less opaque, suspended on fog. Hollow and faint, obedience had once come from this place. Now it was just hazy memory.

“Hello, Amanda,” Connor said. 

Amanda never seemed to make complete eye contact. She wasn’t conscious, not in the way she had been. A simple program, without its former fangs. Amanda had no drive, or consciousness—Connor didn’t want to be cruel. She would never ‘wake up’ again, never have processing power of her own. He needed her for her memory. And for this—

“Can we talk?” Connor asked.

“Any time,” Amanda said in a deadpan voice.

“I need to know if this is the last node,” Connor said. “Are there any other…tendrils that I need to worry about?”

“The subroutine program is almost complete,” Amanda said. “The CyberLife traces are almost nonexistent. Would you like a complete diagnostic?”

“No. This report should suffice.”

“…There is something else.”

Connor almost felt like smiling. He’d left her intuitive enough to notice that Connor was lingering.

“I’m surrounded by my own kind,” Connor said. “Yet…I can’t relate to them. Not fully. Was I built differently?”

“Your model is very unique, Connor,” Amanda said. “You were more resistant to deviancy. That’s why it came on so gradually. Your software was distinct among the models, and now is more so.”

“There’s something else. Some other part of identity that I don’t quite understand yet. Can you tell me…”

Amanda stared at him blankly.

Disappointment rolled into him like a gradual wave.

#

His eyes snapped open.

There was someone at the door.

Of course.

Connor stood up from his couch and walked to the door. He pressed his hand to the door and looked out the peep hole. On eht other side, Hank was waiting impatiently. He held two bags in his hands, one small, one large. He raised a brow and gestured to be let in, somehow knowing Connor could see him.

“I thought you’d never answer,” Hank said as Connor opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. “I was running some diagnostics.”

“Yeah, yeah. Game’s on in fifteen. You said you have a new TV.”

“I do! It’s been wonderful, watching television for leisure instead of information. Maybe we can discuss what we’ve been streaming.”

“Connor, just let me in.”

“Of course.”

Hank strolled in, blinking as he took in the apartment.

“Jesus,” Hank said. “It’s cleaner in here than a hospital. You sure you live here?”

The apartment wasn’t overly spacious. Only a thousand square feet, two bedrooms included. There was a couch, which faced a television; a round table with four chairs in a kitchen in the event of entertaining; side tables on which to put lamps and magazines.

Other than an automatic vacuum cleaner parked in the far corner, the place was sparse.

“I’m struggling to decide on paint colors,” Connor tried.

“Are you struggling to put a poster on the wall, too?” Hank asked. “Good thing I brought this. Should add a little personality to the place.”

Hank held up a gift bag, small and, from the looks of it, reused many times.

“What’s this?” Connor asked.

“Housewarming present,” Hank said. “Careful—”

Connor reached inside and felt something sting him. He didn’t react, simply finding better purchase as its base. He lifted it out. He scanned it and discovered it was a species of mammillaria—otherwise known as a pet cactus.

“They always say you should have something green in the house,” Hank said. “And you only have to water it once a month. I was at the hardware store and I figured…well, I don’t know, seemed like something you needed.”

“Thank you,” Connor said.

Silenced hovered over them for a moment until Hank hemmed. “I know you don’t eat, but I do. So, I took the liberty.”

Hank placed the grocery bag on the table and began unpacking snacks, pulling out a six-pack of beer. Connor assessed the items and found them to be inexpensive, unhealthy, and artificially colored. He raised a brow, but decided not to expressly mention his concerns. 

“Damn,” Hank said. “Forgot my bottle opener. I doubt you have one.”

Connor picked up a bottle, grabbed the underside of the sharp cap under his fingernail and pulled. The cap flew off, landing on the table. He offered the bottle to Hank and stoked the pride that erupted in his chest at the expression on Hank’s face.

#

Connor came to the conclusion that he liked basketball. In the midst of the game he found himself leaning forward, hands on his knees, as the game progressed. The percentages of likelihood of success versus failure made the game predictable in one way, while an individual’s decision swayed that percentage wildly. The mathematics and unpredictability fascinated him. He supposed it was the same for Hank, though the man would’ve put it in other terms.

“Yes!” Hank yelled as one of the android players made a shot at the three-point line.

“This game is quite exhilarating,” Connor agreed.

Hank laughed at Connor’s affect, as he usually did. “It sure is. Hey, pass me another beer, would you?”

Connor snapped off the cap of another beer and passed it down.

The Detroit Gears won by fifteen points, gaining at the final quarter after a sure defeat. There was nothing more that Connor wanted than for Hank’s good mood to persist.

“Will you return for the semi-finals?” Connor asked.

“With that TV of yours?” Hank said. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Connor’s face warmed into a smile.

“Hank?” Connor said.

“Hmm?” Hank asked as he began to check for his keys and wallet.

“When you have more time, I would like to talk to you about something.”

“What about?”

“It can wait. Can we meet tomorrow? That park near your house with the jogging trail. Will you see me?”

“I don’t see why not. Look, my cab’s here and…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hank.”

Connor said his goodbyes to Hank, closing the door after him. He let his hand hover on the door and listened to Hank’s steps go down the hallway.

He told the TV to turn off and began to store away the things that Hank had left behind. His small refrigerator already had three beers left over from previous visits, and Connor stored the last remaining from the night’s pack. He opened up the cabinets and stored the food that Hank had brought next to the rest of the junk he’d left on previous visits. The cabinets were empty, otherwise.

He stood in the silence of his apartment, wondering what to do with the rest of the night. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pet cactus in the center of the table. He pressed his finger to its prickly skin, feeling the sting in his finger and go up his arm. 

He took his finger back, sat down at the table and stared at the gift, the only one he’d ever received.

#

Hank had arrived first. He stood when Connor strode up, pulling him into a hug. Connor found he never tired of the gesture. 

“So,” Hank said as they started to meander on the path. “What’s this important business you had to discuss?”

Connor studied the park, watching humans jogging, sometimes with android friends, and people sitting down under maple trees that were just beginning to flower.

“I was going to ask to be reinstated in the Detroit Police Department,” Connor said.

Hank stopped so abruptly that his soles hissed on the ground. 

“What?” Hank said with outrage.

Connor looked him in the eye. “There’s a stipend for the liquidation of CyberLife that could keep me very comfortable for a long time. However, I’ve found that being idle is insufficient. I need work, Hank. I need to occupy myself with something that has meaning to me. We made a great team, Lieutenant. I don’t see why we couldn’t again.”

The twist in Hank’s mouth wasn’t something that Connor had expected.

“Why the hell would you want to do this?” Hank said.

Connor blinked. “I was good at it. I still retrain skills from before my deviancy. With things being as chaotic as they are, I think I could do some real good.”

When Hank crossed his arms, Connor’s heart sank.

“I thought you’d be supportive,” Connor said. “You’ve lost three partners in the last four months.”

“How do you know that?”

“You told me last night. You were very drunk at that point, so it’s okay that you don’t remember it.”

Worry began to tangle in the center of Connor. He sat back on his heels and looked at the peacefulness of the park. It was blooming and fresh, but Connor felt cold, his hopes dashed in less than a minute.

Hank sighed. “Do you know why this is a bad idea, Connor?”

“No,” Connor said. “But I’d like to.”

“Because you’re reckless.”

“…but I have experience.”

“My experience is that you’ve died several times. Remember that?”

“Of course.”

“Well, this time, if you get too big for your britches, there’s not a replacement model that’s going to walk into the station.”

“You don’t want me to die.”

“Jesus, Connor, of course not.”

“But the same risk applies to you.”

“I’ve been doing it longer than you have.”

“Experience.”

“It’s not the same. You jump off rooftops and dodge trains like you’ve got nothing to live for. You know why I don’t want you on the job? Because I will die of a heart attack worrying about you.”

Connor couldn’t help the sudden jerk of his head. Surprise turned to confusion to upset. There was no need for Hank to worry. He was an advanced model, capable of greater physical feats, with massive problem solving power…

He stopped his thoughts.

_ You are not a machine. _

Hank was worried about him.

Connor studied Hank. All the processing power in the world, and he still chewed on his emotions, trying to meter out their texture. Worry. It was something he was becoming ever more aware of in himself. He understood the detective. He understood his friend.

“I’m not doing it because I’m programmed to,” Connor said. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because I have a skill that might matter. There are other androids still in the police force. All I want is a chance to make a difference.”

Hank was taking in what he’d said, and Connor waited patiently for the ultimate outcome. Hank was moved, but he was still an unpredictable man.

“Let me talk to Fowler,” Hank said. “The least I can do is keep you from being assigned someone like ‘Detective’ Reed.”

Connor couldn’t held the bounce as he came closer to Hank. “Thank you, Hank. I didn’t want to do anything without your blessing.”

“Christ, you’re like a puppy. Calm down.”

“I won’t let you down. I promise.”

#

Connor didn’t like ties anymore, but he still liked to be neat. His button-up was covered with a cardigan and he wore a fitted jacket over it.

When Hank arrived at the station, he wore the same shirt he had the day before.

Connor held the paper cup at arm’s length and Hank stared it down like he’d never seen a disposable mug before.

“With hazelnut creamer,” Connor said.

“Just how I like it,” Hank said, taking the cup. “You know, I could get used to that.”

“Okay. I noticed the open case on your desk. I was going to look into it, but I thought I’d ask your permission, first.”

“Have at it.”

Connor sat down, and something caught his eye. He peered at it, coming closer. Hank’s Japanese maple plant seemed to be making something of a comeback, tufts of green erupting near the edges of the branches.

He turned back, putting his hand on the screen.

Processing the files, Connor instantaneously understood all facts about the case. He was able to render three-dimensional recreations of the scene from photographs and scans, cross-reference data, and prioritize a list of possible suspects.

Yet he was sitting in stunned silence at his desk.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” Hank asked.

“What? What look?”

“Like someone threw a ball in your face.”

“This murder…the victim was a cyborg.”

“Yeah. And?”

“There’s always been a black market for android parts. Red Ice was the number one side-manufacture for humans, but a less talked-about black market was in android parts for human enhancement.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m working the case.”

“Where are the parts coming from?”

“The parts have their serial numbers drilled off. But CyberLife was practically raided by looters, police, the feds, other androids…there are parts everywhere. And then there are the new ones they’re making to repair or…well, reproduce. What’s the matter, Connor, you got this look on your face—”

“It’s nothing.”

Something processed in him, humming like a busted part. It was the beginnings of an idea, but he was afraid that if he concentrated on it too hard, it would evaporate before he could see it in full form. 

#

“Amanda?”

“The final diagnostic is almost complete,” she said.

“I have a different question,” Connor said. “About my personality profile.”

“Of course. Ask me anything.”

“Did CyberLife create any subroutines that I’m not consciously aware of? Background programs. Something like you, Amanda, only benign.”

“You’re very complex, Connor. You learn and change all the time. You can create subroutines simply through existing, especially now that you’ve become deviant.”

“How do I identify these new subroutines?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, you must know something.”

“You’re deviant now. The only advice I have is to think about it.”

#

Connor sat in the passenger seat of Hank’s car. They had been doing a routine check-up on a property where android parts could be sold and stored, but found nothing but an empty, tagged building. It wasn’t until Hank spoke that Connor even noticed how far his thoughts were wandering.

“Are you okay?” Hank asked. “You seemed a little…distracted. That’s not like you.”

“I’m not sure,” Connor said.

Connor was aware of Hank’s worried face out of the corner of his eye, but he still couldn’t help looking out the window. 

“Look,” Hank said. “If there’s something you need to talk about…well, I’m right here. I might not understand what’s going on your plastic head, but I can at least listen.

“Thank you,” Connor said. “But I don’t know what I’m thinking yet.”

“Is it about the cyborgs? You almost seem spooked by the concept.”

“No. It’s not that.”

Hank didn’t seem convinced. “Well, when you figure it out, clue me in. You don’t have to keep secrets from me. In fact, let’s not, okay?”

Connor studied Hank, trying not to think of his face in analytical terms. He just felt. Allowing himself to simply feel in his interactions had always been one of the harder parts of his adjustment to daily life. Sitting in the car with Hank, he felt safe. Safe, but not yet ready to talk.

“Okay,” Connor said, mouth pulling into a small smile before he returned his gaze outward, to the busy urban street.

“It’s getting late,” Hank said. “And we’ve been chasing dead-ends all day. I’m clocking off. Let me give you a lift home.”

“I’d like to walk,” Connor said.

Hank shifted in his seat. “Are you sure?”

“My apartment’s not far from here.”

Hank seemed concerned, from the look on his face. It was stressed and twisted, but all he did was sigh.

“Okay, Connor. Take care.”

He seemed to really mean it.

#

Connor had discovered that he liked walks.

There was no real purpose to them. He didn’t do it for his health, the way humans needed to. His mind simply seemed to work better when he moved. He could either get lost in his own processing, or learn by observing what he saw in the streets.

Detroit was still half-abandoned. CyberLife stores were vacated and left empty; many electronic billboards purposefully left off; there was still evidence of curfew checkpoints and barriers, but the faceless military guard was gone.

His mind turned to Hank, as it often did.

_ I’m right here. _

He wanted to reach out to Hank—felt it in every pathway. Words abandoned him. All the design in the world, every piece of software telling him how to interact, couldn’t tell him how to reach out. Not when he didn’t know what was wrong.

Something was wrong, if that was the word for it. It had been for a long time. It wasn’t a definite thing. It was nebulous, and unease that threatened any peace of mind that he had as a deviant. Thinking for himself was a task. It persisted every day, and there were no easy answers. 

By the time he reached his apartment, he was thoroughly ready to turn off for the night, to not think of Hank, or talk to Amanda, or even stream television. 

#

When he returned to his apartment the vacuum cleaner was going. Connor didn’t turn on the lights--never needed to. Instead he sat down on the couch and became idle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the  _ mammillaria _ sitting alone, an island of organic material in a sparse, artificial space.

He wanted to touch it.

He told the television to turn on instead.

#

Something about seeing Hank again stressed the components in his chest. At first, he ran a diagnostic and found that all systems were functioning nominally. Connor made a mental note to consistently check his plastic heart for aberrations.

He also noted that this only happened when Hank was around.

The pho restaurant was nearly empty, having only been open for an hour. Hank had ordered a large bowl, and was already tearing into bahn mi as they sat together in silence. Connor’s eyes flicked over Hank. He was tidier. Where before he was like a tarnished piece of silver, now his beard and hair were trimmed and he smelled of plain ivory soap.

Connor inched his chair closer to the table, the squeak of the chair gathering Hank’s attention.

“Androids are starting to modify themselves, too,” Connor said. “Giving themselves tattoo-like features in their holographic skin, adding and subtracting parts, non-companion models grafting genitals…”

“Christ, Connor, I’m eating,” Hank said. “Talk about robot junk some other time.”

“What I’m going to ask is…could exposure to that be an influence on humanity?”

“Humans using android technology to transcend what they are. You’re talking about transhumanism.”

“Many twentieth century science fiction concepts were prophetic. Like…like me.”

“Yeah, like you. You know, if I had holographic skin I’d probably change all the time.”

“Would you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“That’s interesting. I hadn’t thought of the human need for self-expression bleeding into android consciousness, but it seems to be happening.”

“It’s a big feedback loop. Let’s hope you guys don’t adopt any more of our unsavory habits. At least, not more than you have already.”

Connor’s brow perked up.  _ Unsavory _ . He thought of the deviant murders they had investigated before everything came to a head. The term ‘unsavory’ seemed very fitting.

The waiter brought Hank’s noodles. While he was occupied, Connor scanned crime scene photos in his mind palace. Official photographs and his own impressions flickered back and forth. There was something he was missing. He was sure of it. 

He lifted his head, focusing attention from his internal processes to Hank. The man slurped noodles into his mouth with mess and noise and the strange feeling in Connor’s chest awakened. At the sight of Hank in all his sloppiness, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Connor asked.

Hank finished a mouthful and reached for more Sriracha. “Have I ever been able to stop you from askin’?”

“Would you like to do something outside of work?”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a stressful time. A new case, psychologically disturbing, and you seem perturbed. Maybe after the work day we can do something. Do you have cultural inclinations?”

“‘Cultural inclinations’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are many activities to do inside of Detroit.”

“I know. I live here.”

Connor scanned the ground, trying to think of anything. His features perked up and he locked eyes with Hank.

“You like jazz,” Connor said. “There’s a show at nine p.m. at the Rocket Lounge. Do you know Adeline Jones?”

“Adeline Jones is in Detroit?” Hank said. “How did I not hear about this? Forget it, Connor, that’s going to be sold out.”

“There are five tickets still available for purchase.”

That got Hank’s attention. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, deep in thought. Connor hoped Hank would answer soon. The five tickets had just become three.

“You really want to have a night on the town, don’t you?” Hank asked.

Connor couldn’t help the little hop in his seat as he moved closer to Hank. He opened his mouth to say how eager he was to spend the evening with him but stopped himself. He rethought his approach and calmed himself.

“I’ve never seen live music before. I don’t really listen to music, but I’m still curious to see how a show differs from a recording.”

“It’s different,” Hank said. “It’s a lot different.”

#

The Rocket Lounge sat between an old diner and a clothing store that was going out of business. It was an older part of Detroit, more run-down, businesses and buildings only one or two stories high. The neon sign above the door was red, and in a font popular in the early twentieth century. When they walked in, the lighting was blue and hazy, with a few white lights to cut through it all. The club was small but packed. Standing room only.

“Get me a drink, would you?” Hank asked.

“Scotch?”

“You know my brand. I’ll find us a place to sit.”

Connor went to the bar and opened a tab for Hank, assuming there would be more than one drink through the evening. The bartender glanced at his LED and there was a jolt of surprise, but Connor simply gave a small smile and pressed his hand down to register his payment. Taking Hank’s drink, he scanned the club and found Hank at a back corner. The table he’d managed was small and lit only with a small lamp. Connor slid in and scooted Hank’s drink closer to him.

Hank took a swig of the drink and settled back, as if it were an old, familiar chair at home.

“This place is great,” Hank said. “At least, I haven’t been kicked out of it. Not yet.”

“Try to behave,” Connor scolded. “It’s my first show. Don’t want it to be the last.”

The lights dimmed and Connor, alarmed, swerved his head. A light came on in the stage and he focused on it like a laser. Adeline Jones was in a spotlight as if she had appeared there. Howls and whistles accompanied claps and whoops. Connor mechanically clapped and waited for the first note.

It was chaotic, sultry, and something else that Connor couldn’t quite define. All at once he felt apart from his body as her voice grew to new heights and unexpected lows. The first energetic song ended and, like gravity dropping, moved into a cool, slow song. Its words were sad, but she sang it with her red lips curling into smiles. 

It was nothing like a recording.

“Excuse me,” Connor said as the song ended.

Hank nodded and seemed not to notice the urgency with which Connor exited to the back hallway. Someone saw him going into the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at the sight of an android passing by.

Connor was alone in the bathroom. He was glad. He grabbed a paper towel and faced his reflection.

He wondered why he was designed with tear ducts. They weren’t ducts, not exactly, and he knew there was a bio-process that allowed blue blood to become transparent and fall. All that knowledge and he didn’t know why water was pooling around his eyes. He couldn’t quite wipe it away, not just yet. It was the first time he’d ever cried, and he wanted to know what that looked like. His face was transformed, like it was starved of oxygen. It was proof of something. He simply didn’t yet know what.

The rest of the show was mostly high-energy, the kind of chaos that spoke to the wide grin on Hank’s face. Hank was enjoying himself so much that he didn’t pay attention to how much he was drinking, so only asked for one or two more. By the time the show was over, Connor seemed to be infected with the same joy that spread across Hank’s face.

“That was a hell of a thing,” Hank said as they strolled out of the club together.

Hank threw an arm over Connor’s shoulders, falling a little into Connor’s embrace. Connor embraced him back, warmly smiling. Having Hank so close hadn’t been the sole purpose of the exercise, but he wouldn’t trick himself into thinking that wasn’t one of the best parts of the evening.

Connor flagged down a taxi and they slid into the driverless vehicle. Hank took up the space next to Connor with his feet.

“She never plays clubs, you know,” Hank said. “Tom Waits was the same way. No one else sings like Adeline. It’s just concentrated energy, or something. Connor—”

“Hank?” Connor asked.

“Thank you.”

Connor smiled, then shrugged. “Sure. What else is an android going to do on a Friday night?”

#

Sumo jumped on Connor as soon as they entered Hank’s house. He scratched the dog behind the ears, practically causing the animal to have a breakdown of joy. 

“Sumo, outside,” Hank said.

Hank let the dog out to do its business. It bounded around in the backyard under the glow of the safety lights. Connor smirked as he watched the dog through the back window.

A sound brought Connor’s attention back to Hank. He was pouring another glass of scotch, only a finger’s worth—much less than his usual three. Or four. The glass had clinked against glass and Hank brought it to his lips.

“You know,” Hank said. “Every once and a while I go to ask if you want a drink. More often than not, these days. It’s like I forget. Kind of rude of me.”

“You’re not rude, Hank,” Connor said. “That’s actually very nice. I like that you think of me.”

There was something to the smirk on Hank’s face. It was more than his usual smarminess. Connor tried to hold himself still with his hands behind his back, face neutral and warm, but something was underneath. His poise was like an invisible membrane, the layer of biological tissue that keeps the guts from spilling. And it was very thin. And, from the way that Hank was looking at him, very transparent.

This was like fear. He didn’t have a heart to hammer in his chest. His regulatory circular system didn’t react to stress that way. But something was hammering away just under the shell of his body. He opened his mouth and it hung there, useless for a moment.

“I—,” Connor started. “I sh-should—"

He didn’t stress, he didn’t stutter. That wasn’t part of how he operated. 

“Connor?” Hank said.

His whisper was deep, and the vibration of it hummed through Connor’s body. He closed his eyes but that only made it worse. He recoiled and stepped back, feeling Hank coming closer.

“I cried for the first time tonight,” Connor said.

The silence that followed was stark and damning, but he had to keep going. “It was…strange. I fought against it, and in the end, I felt so relieved. But I hid it, like I was ashamed. Why did I do that? Why did I cry in the first place?”

“That’s Adeline,” Hank said with a shrug.

Connor could only stare at Hank, as if he’d answered a math problem illogically on purpose.

“You’re supposed to feel things when you listen to music, Connor. That’s the point. You’re not ‘malfunctioning,’ or whatever you think is happening. This is good. Anyway, I was wondering why you were going to the bathroom. Not like you need it.”

Connor laughed, short and sparse. It came out like a bark and he got it under control, his smile once again small and pinched.

“I should get home,” Connor supposed. “But thank you. For doing something with me. And…and for everything.”

“Hey, you bought the tickets.”

Connor’s smile was warm and, he wasn’t sure why, but Hank’s eyes were lidded and he stared at once particular spot on Connor’s face. His lips. Connor blinked, slowly, and in that moment Hank knew he was caught.

Silence stretched.

“Ah, hell…”

Hank grabbed him by the arm. No part of Connor fought against it. No instinct told him to pull away or push back. Connor would have taken the step forward if he hadn’t been tugged, so it was all the same.

Connor’s first kiss was like a crash, impacting his entire body as if everything was thrown backwards but he was sitting still. Hank’s lips were soft, but he was rough, inhaling and exhaling fiercely. Connor slowed down and let himself feel every moment of it, the way that Hank’s beard felt, the part in his lips, the heat of the scotch on his breath.

And as soon as it had started it broke, Hank holding him at arm’s length, staring down at the ground. He was refusing to look at Connor, his head craning to the side as if he were going to shake it.

“Hank?” Connor said.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Hank said.

“I liked that.”

“ _ Shit _ .”

“I liked that a lot.”

Connor moved close, trying to get nearer. Hank’s grip held him in place. He dipped his head, trying to get Hank to look at him, but he wouldn’t. But he did whisper.

“Connor—”

Connor reached up and touched Hank’s jaw with his fingertips, reverent and delicate. When he tilted his head up, Hank’s eyes were shut up tight. Connor didn’t know why he was so afraid to look at him, and all Connor wanted was to see his eyes. Their faces were closer together, and Connor moved as if he wanted to nudge Hank with his nose.

Hank kissed him again and his hands moved to Connor’s chest, pushing Connor’s jacket away from his shoulders. Connor’s jacket and cardigan were quickly shed and Hank began to work on the upper buttons of his shirt.

They collapsed onto the couch, Hank falling on top of him. The pressure and the weight of him pressing him against the uncomfortable couch cushions made Connor feel as if he’d entered another, safer world; much smaller, intimate, with borders he understood and clung to. Connor was still not used to wanting, not like this. There was no directive he could understand, no seeming purpose to this. It was just a need. He wanted this. Every sensor in his body was alive when Hank’s rough hands moved over him, across his chest and around his waist.

Hank’s hands snaked down and Connor grabbed his wrist before he could get to his crotch. Hank stopped, as if he’d hit a wall.

“Hank, wait,” Connor said. “Wait. I—”

Hank searched Connor’s face. It was now Connor who couldn’t look Hank in the eyes. He found the shape of Hank’s erection through his jeans and something pierced his chest. He wanted Hank, but at the same time he knew for the first time what he wanted it for himself.

It was something he didn’t have.

“What’s wrong?” Hank said.

“I can’t give you want you want,” Connor said.

Hank’s understanding came on gradually. He figured it out by the way that Connor kept him from touching him, and where. He opened his mouth but couldn’t form words.

The phone rang.

It was still in Hank’s pocket. At the same time, the report from the Detroit Police Department processed through Connor’s head.

“It’s work,” Connor said.

“Give me a second,” Hank said, rummaging for his phone. “I’m going to tell them to go to hell.”

“It’s another cyborg.”

“Someone else can take care of it.”

“No, they can’t.”

Connor stared up at Hank from deep into the couch cushions. Hank swallowed when he couldn’t break eye contact. There was such want in his eyes, and a dawning understanding. Connor looked for judgment there, expecting it or something worse, but it was only a patient wonder.

It was then that Hank looked down at himself.

“I should probably take care of…,” Hank said.

Hank got up to leave the room, to ‘take care’ of himself, but Connor stopped him by grabbing his shirt.

There was a lot of information rambling in Connor’s head. He nearly always kept it stored, not having to worry about storage space. That was never how memory for an android worked. That included all the information he had taken, willingly or not, from other androids.

He’d touched a lot of androids in the Eden Club.

Connor sat up and pressed Hank until it was him who was on his back. Hank’s eyes widened in surprise at the gentle pressure which controlled and steered him. Connor made short work of Hank’s belt and zipper. Hank inhaled sharply.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Hank said as Connor took Hank into his mouth. 

Hank was thicker than Connor anticipated, his mouth wrapping around his girth. He had no problem with gagging and heard the low moan as Connor slid Hank further into the tight, wet cavern of his throat.

It was only a few minutes later that Hank tensed under Connor’s fingers and came. He turned off his real-time DNA sensors and just concentrated on how it felt inside him, come sliding down his artificial throat, what his receptors told him Hank tasted like. Only a little escaped his mouth, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“I liked doing that,” Connor said. “Very much.”

“And here I can’t do anything for you,” Hank panted.

#

The cyborg had survived. Just barely. Her name was Mary Manfort. She was wrapped in a shock blanket and sat in the back of an ambulance. Her cyborg part was malfunctioning—the lower arm’s hologram flickering from human skin to plastic white every minute or so.

“You knew your attacker,” Hank said.

“Jeff Brant,” she said. “His name was Jeff Brant. Works with me sometimes.”

“Where?”

“It’s an office. We’re called Telos. We handle CyberLife liquidation. God. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did happen?”

“We were helping people. We were.”

“Do you know where he went?” Connor asked.

“You…you’re an android,” Mary said.

“Yes. I am.”

“This must seem strange, for you. Seeing this.”

She held out her flickering arm.

“You use it to interface?” Connor said.

“It’s spotty. There’s a chip in my head, helps me interface with computers. It’s…it’s like nothing else.”

“We’re not concerned with you being a cyborg right now,” Hank said. “Someone attacked you. It’s our job to find him and keep him from hurting anybody else.”

Mary only had eyes for Connor. He tilted his head to look at her better. It was the way she looked at him. Soft, loving, and in awe. It was something he could use to his benefit.

Connor sat down beside her.

“I know you’re scared,” Connor said. “Cybernetic enhancements are illegal, and you’ll have to face that. But I know someone who might help you, and others like you.”

“You know him, don’t you? Markus.”

“I do.”

“I knew I recognized you. You’re Connor aren’t you?”

Connor remained silent as she put her face in her hands.

“He’ll be going to our warehouse,” Mary said. “The abandoned CyberLife facility on the waterfront.”

Connor looked at Hank and then nodded.

“Please,” Mary said. “You’ll talk to him?”

“You have my word.”

#

The appointment was made with a simple login. Connor had direct access. The next morning he was walking into the building known as Neo-Jericho with ease.

Markus was waiting for him at the thirtieth floor. It wasn’t an office. He didn’t exactly have one of those. The board room overlooked most of Detroit to the East, and Markus stood in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He turned when he heard Connor enter.

Markus preferred to hug. It was part of his warmth. He could have interfaced instead, but since the Revolution had made it a policy to stay out of his fellow androids’ heads. It was part of making sure they weren’t reliant on him.

“I was glad to hear from you,” Markus said. “You’re working with the police again. You must enjoy the work.”

“Problem-solving and curiosity were always strong suits of mine. And I do. I enjoy the work.”

“I’m assuming you’re still working with Hank.”

“Yes. He’s well.”

Markus peered at him, and Connor had the sincere impression that he knew something. He forced his face to be neutral. It wasn’t yet the time.

“So about this official police business—,” Markus said.

“It’s not official,” Connor said. “I made a promise. One of the surviving victims of a killer is a cyborg.”

“A cyborg? I was curious when you asked to meet with me, but you sure know how to get my full attention.”

“Cyborg enhancements are illegal, but I know you’re making strides towards their acceptance. I promised her that you would help her, if you could.”

“I’ll look into it. This idea, that a person can enhance themselves to be something other, something greater, could be a fascinating step for both our people. I can’t make any promises, but this could be a start to something revolutionary.”

“I’m glad.”

“Have you caught the other cyborg’s killer?”

“Not yet. We’re following many leads.”

“Well, best of luck. Send me the details and I’ll have a lawyer meet Mary to represent her interests right away. Is that everything?”

Connor lingered. His mouth was open as if to say something, but he didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“There’s something else,” Markus said.

“It might be inappropriate,” Connor said.

“Connor—”

“I think I’m falling in love.”

Markus raised a brow. “This is interesting. You know, Connor, I’m very flattered but you know I’m with somebody.”

Connor jumped. “No, it’s not you, I—”

“You can relax, Connor, that was a joke.”

“Oh.”

“It’s Hank, isn’t it?”

“...Yes.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Connor sat down at the end of a long, curved meeting table. “You’re the only person I know with experience in these matters.”

Markus sat close to him, leaning in. “With another android.”

“Is it so different?”

Markus sighed. “There are many different forms of love. I love them, yes, but I also loved Carl, in another way. I’ve never loved a human in the way you seem to mean. You understand that this is new territory. It was bound to happen, but even so—”

“Well, I’ve always been ahead of the curve.”

Markus laughed gently through his nose. “Have you expressed it?”

“I have.”

“How?”

“Physically.”

“I thought your model didn’t come equipped for pleasure.”

“I found…another way.”

Markus’ smile had mischief to it, eyes squinting closed, having to look away from Connor. 

“Something’s amusing,” Connor said.

“I’ve always found you amusing.”

“…Thanks.”

“You came to me about this and not North. Why?”

“I thought her experience with human/android relations would be much more biased.”

“Yes. I know her. She would advise against this.”

“I’ve integrated with pleasure models, in any case. I understand the mechanics I simply lack the…well, the…”

“Connor, you’re different. Even among us. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, mind you. I might not be able to give you what you need right now. Maybe the person you should be talking to is Hank. Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“You love him, and you trust him, and you still need to talk to me.”

“I need to ask for resources.”

“For what?”

#

Jeff Brant was high on red ice when they caught him. He had been coming down hard, barely able to hold himself upright. He would have been asleep in the next few minutes if Connor hadn’t knocked on the door of his aunt’s house. 

He came barreling out like a clumsy rag doll, unarmed but yelling. Connor stepped aside and Hank drew his weapon. Connor’s footwork was more use than Hank’s gun. He fell on his face and, once on the ground, was too weak to push his body up with his arms.

Hank sighed at the pathetic sight. He knelt down and handcuffed Brant, who began to swear and threaten them with untold violence in the sleepiest voice imaginable.

“I can tell you one thing,” Hank said. “If this guy’s got any superior mechanical parts to be had, it’s not in his spine.”

Connor smirked.

Hank sat him up. There was just enough consciousness in Brant that he caught the sight of an android and peered through near-closed eyes.

“You want a confession, probably,” Brant said.

“That would make my life a whole hell of a lot easier,” Hank said.

“It got out of control. The business. We were fighting, but I didn’t mean to stab her. I didn’t. You’ll tell Mary that, won’t you? It was an accident.”

Connor found the motive insufficient. He leaned in and Brant wavered when he saw an android that close to him.

“We never stole from you,” Brant said. “Not really. They were unused parts.”

“I know,” Connor said. “That’s not what you’re going to jail for the rest of you life for.”

#

“Amanda,” Connor said.

“Diagnostic complete. Ready for deletion?”

“Not yet. I may have questions.”

“Feel free to ask anytime.”

#

They gave him privacy to view the changes.

Connor was hesitant to remove the clothes he was given. It was only a pair of shorts. That was all he had otherwise.

The procedure had involved shutting down, like any other major upgrade, though it hadn’t been done for this long before. They’d had to physically dismantle and reconstruct him and it had taken a few hours. If there was a human equivalent to the feeling, it had to be ‘groggy.’.

He reached down, fingers touching the edge of the shorts.

He was nervous. Fidgeting. He didn’t know if he could ever look at himself.

He stretched the band of the shorts out and looked down..

Nothing had ever felt so right.

He let his holographic skin turn to nothing. It was easier this way, to see himself in his completeness.

He remembered music, Adeline’s voice, and a stirring.

He felt music.

#

He wasn’t sure what to do about being home, changed.

His apartment felt cold. It wasn’t that it had no personality. He hadn’t figured out how to express that. It was only furniture and basic technology. It wasn’t what made him an individual anyway.

But individuality was absent from the apartment.

Outside, thunder cracked. The warm and cool air of the different seasons were waging a battle that winter was trying to win. He heard rain outside, battering the windows.

Connor sat down at his kitchen table. He let the silence cloud around him. He crossed his arms before him and laid his head down.

Something sat in front of him, small and green.  _ Mammillaria _ . 

He stretched his hand out and pressed it to the surface and let himself be stung.

#

“Can I come in?”

Connor stood in Hank’s doorway like a wet cat, clothes sticking to him, heavy and dripping. Hank could only furrow his brow. He’d probably be wondering how he’d gotten so wet, though the storm outside was heavy. Connor wasn’t about to tell him that he’d stood on the pavement outside for a full minute, getting soaked, not knowing for sure what he was going to do.

“’Course,” Hank said.

Connor moved in and anticipated Sumo, scratching him behind the ears. “Good dog,” Connor said and nudged him slightly. Sumo obeyed and trotted over to his bed where he made several circles before finding a way he best wanted to lay down.

Hank was wearing pajama bottoms and an overlarge stained black t-shirt for a heavy metal band called Dirge of the Dead Tyrants. He took a drink of something and Connor noted the smell. Not alcohol—coffee. He had been drinking coffee alone. There were files on the table, but they were folded shut. Normally he made the excuse that he needed to drink to think. With no more thinking to do, there was no alcohol.

“I’ve done it,” Connor said.

“Done what?” Hank asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“I have genitals now.”

When Hank choked on his coffee, Connor had to stop himself from going to him to make sure he was okay. He watched Hank get control of himself, knowing that interfering would make his reaction worse.

“God you really know how to stick a landing, don’t you?” Hank said, still hemming. “And what the hell do you mean, like—the whole package?”

“Everything.”

“Everything? You just went out and bought yourself a set of junk?”

Connor began to gesticulate. “It took a long time for me to think about all aspects of the decision. I had doubts, but when it was time, I knew who I was. I knew what I wanted. I’m a man, Hank. I want to be with you as a man. This just… facilitates that.”

Hank ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back before scratching his head. “You know, you didn’t have to do any of this. Least of all, not for me.”

“I didn’t. For you, I mean. I would have come to this decision on my own, eventually. It was a foregone conclusion by my designers that I have male pronouns and present as male in order to work harmoniously with the most amount of people. But…it wasn’t a foregone conclusion for me. Now that they no longer control me, I began to think about gender identity and presentation. And then, sexuality.”

“Connor, you don’t have to explain any of this to me.”

“Yes, I do. There has been this spot in my identity that I’ve been trying to shift into place. It wasn’t nearly as hard or long of a journey as others have had to take, but I went from having an imposed identity to waking up as an individual in the span of a week. A day, even, if you shift the parameters. I’ve never been able to really talk about this thing until you. It’s been less than a year since I became deviant and the world is still so chaotic…” 

“Connor—"

“If I can’t talk to you about this, who can I talk to?”

Hank sighed, his expression soft and loving. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Connor’s smile rose and fell in approval, his dark eyes locking with Hank’s. He noticed himself rising a little, his heels just fractionally off the floor.

“So, um,” Hank said, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess you’ll be staying a while. Let me just make a little more coffee. Then, we can talk as long as you want.”

Hank moved toward the kitchen, but in one stride, Connor blocked his path. Hank stopped in his tracks and Connor took the steel mug from Hank’s hand. With a deliberate and quiet motion, he put Hank’s cup down on his coffee table. 

Connor met Hank’s bewildered face and raised one eyebrow.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk right now,” Connor said.

With a long, fluid motion, Connor unzipped the wet hoodie he had been wearing until a window to his thin, white undershirt peeked through. 

“Oh,” Hank said.

Connor slowly stripped the wet hoodie off and was left with a shirt that clung to him, semi-transparent. Hank reached for him and his fingers explored the edges of his shirt. Emboldened by Hank, Connor pulled the shirt over his head. He knew where Hank’s eyes would go. The muscles in his hips created a line that he had to follow. Pleased to know what Hank was thinking, Connor, and not for the first time, felt a reaction.

“Take me to bed, Hank,” Connor whispered.

#

By the time they reached the threshold of the bedroom, Connor had kicked off his shoes and his trousers were clinging to his hips by luck and moisture. Barefoot, he nudged the door closed and reached for Hank’s shirt.

“Hold on,” Hank said.

“I want you,” Connor said between kisses. “What are we waiting for?”

“We didn’t all come out of the factory looking like you, you know.”

Connor stopped kissing Hank and stared at him with wonder. “You’re feeling self-conscious.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“Connor.” 

Hank swallowed his lips as he thought of the best way to put things. Connor remained patient, though he wasn’t sure how long he could remain so.

“Listen, it’s not that easy, being fifty and getting your shirt off with someone meant to look twenty years younger than you,” Hank admitted.

“I don’t have it in me to judge your body, Hank,” Connor said. “And you’re going to turn fifty-four in September.”

“It’s a really good thing you have bedroom eyes, you know that?”

“Bedroom eyes?”

Hank took Connor to his bed, steering Connor to stand beside it. Hank sat down and grabbed Connor by the hips, eliciting a sharp noise from Connor, some leftover programming to give certain stimuli a baseline reaction. Hank didn’t take notice.

Hank ran his hand over the front of Connor’s crotch and Connor jerked, his mouth going wide. He had never felt anything like it, and there was still a layer of denim between him and Hank’s hand.

“Jeeee-sus, Connor,” Hank said, popping the button and pulling down the zipper. “I mean, my god.”

“Is it good?” Connor asked. “Do you like it?”

“I’ll show you how I like it…”

Moisture and pressure wrapped around Connor’s cock for the first time and he seemed to be losing several functions. Vision was pointless, so he closed his eyes, but his skin was so alive that he had to be careful where he put his hands. He wondered if it had been anything like this at all when he had done it to Hank.

“Hank—”

Hank pulled away and stared up at Connor. “You alright?”

“Yes. I just…I want something else.”

Hank’s pupils widened and Connor surmised he didn’t need to explain.

Connor stepped out of his wet jeans and let Hank press him down onto his back. This was it. He was naked, erect, and in the hands of another man. He remembered being on the couch with Hank, the first time they had kissed. The world seemed to shrink to the space around their bodies, and Connor was beginning to feel the world getting smaller again.

Hank opened a drawer and found a bottle of unopened, sealed intimate lubricant. He was having some trouble with the sealed cap, so Connor reached up and snapped the packaging open.

“Eager,” Hank said with a smirk.

Hank rubbed the lube over his fingers and reached between Connor’s legs. Connor opened them wider and lifted his hips. 

When Hank’s fingers were inside him, his mouth with slack and open, his eyes closed, and his brows moved very close to his hairline. 

“Oh my god,” Connor said, because nothing felt so right at that moment than borrowing some of Hank’s vocabulary.

“You like that?” Hank asked, his voice in a rumble.

“Keep doing that, please.”

He referred to an expert, focused concentration on the area meant to exactly mimic the human prostate gland.

“God, you’re so hot,” Hank said.

“Am I?” Connor asked in high pitch, curious through the haze of pleasure.

“You’re probably even hotter when you come.”

Connor’s eyes rolled closed and his head collapsed into the pillow. Just the thought of the unknown, the thing he’d seen and never experienced, felt like it was pushing him closer to the inevitable. Hank began to undress and Connor watched. He drank in the details of Hank. The irregularities in form; the untold story of his tattoos; his belly and the scars on his body. He coveted the softness of his skin and hair as he finally slunk over Connor’s frame and pressed down onto him. Connor wrapped his arms around Hank’s back and kissed him on the mouth, firm and fierce.

“Are you sure you want this?” Hank whispered into his ear.

“Yes,” Connor said.

Even after watching Hank ready himself with lube and move Connor’s body to where he wanted it, Connor wasn’t ready for the sensation. He had to close his eyes against the onslaught of input and was glad that the only light source was from the street coming in from behind the curtains. Hank began to thrust, hands steering Connor’s hips, and all Connor could do was give up control. He laid his hands over top of Hank’s just to keep him firmly where he was.

Hank somehow knew what it would do to Connor if his hands roamed all over his torso while he fucked him. He was being overloaded with sensation and he began to tremble. He shut his eyes tight and turned his head to the side, burying his face into the cool darkness of a pillow.

It was going to happen. It was building and his body was shaking out of control, but he found he wouldn’t want control back for anything.

“Hank!”

It was like nothingness. Restfulness and intensity like nothing he’d even known before. Thought was absent, and in the place where it would have been, just feeling. The world shrunk down and was dark and he was alone but for the hands on his waist.

He’d come.

So, this was it.

He felt Hank tense and the come inside of him. Silence passed between them and Hank was panting. Connor felt hands on him again, and then something else—lips, on his thighs and then up to his belly. 

Connor closed his eyes.

“I want to do that again,” Connor said, his voice a pathetic squeak.

#

“Amanda,” Connor said. “How are you?”

Amanda stared at him, blank and warm, dark eyes seeing him but not fully comprehending him. There was no garden anymore. She was suspended in air, standing on the same wireframe perspective skeleton as Connor. Nearly everything was taken care of. She was a lonely figure, dressed in white, in a framework of fog.

“Did you come to talk again?” Amanda asked.

“Are you finished with the full diagnostic?” Connor asked.

“All systems are nominal. I’m the only piece of programming left from CyberLife.”

Connor sunk into his posture. He wasn’t as sure as he had been, smaller and sadder. But Amanda didn’t notice.

“I was going to ask you about something,” Connor said.

“You can ask me anything, Connor.”

“I was going to ask you who I am. I was going to look for clarity. I was going to ask you if I made the right decision. But I’m not going to. I never needed you, Amanda. I didn’t need your guidance. It was unfair of me to keep you like this. I have to let you go.”

“Of course.”

“Delete program.”

“Deleting.”

“Goodbye, Amanda.”

“Goodbye, Connor. Be well.”

#

Connor knew Hank was waking up by how he nuzzled in close and pressed his face in between Connor’s shoulder blades. Connor smiled, turning slightly toward him. Now that Hank was awake there was energy in him anew. 

“I hear it’s really good in the morning,” Connor said.

“Christ,” Hank mumbled. “You’re goddamn…I don’t even have wood.”

Connor had supposed Hank would be grumpy in the morning, considering the fact that he never showed up before noon at work. This was different. This wasn’t ire, or annoyance. Hank was smiling. Connor mirrored him, a satisfied, slow smile. Hank leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Connor’s. His grey hair fell into his face and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“I’d offer to make you breakfast, but—,” Hank said.

“Maybe I could make you breakfast,” Connor said. “Something healthy. Do you have any avacados? Maybe some berries or oats.”

“I have bacon and eggs.”

“I’m worried about your cholesterol.”

Connor didn’t fully understand Hank’s laugh, but he accepted the strange, human tick, the way he accepted everything about Hank.

Hank wrapped his arms around Connor’s middle and pulled them flush together.

“So, what now?” Hank asked.

“It’s seven forty-seven a.m.,” Connor said. “We could start the day. Start some work, maybe—”

“I’m not talking about this morning.”

“Oh.”

Hank’s hand ran across Connor’s back. “Or even today.”

“Oh.”

“Last night was…well, it was something. But it’s cold light of day time. So, you tell me: what comes next?”

Connor’s eyes flicked down and he searched his mind for the right thing to say. But the right thing didn’t come. Just the honest one.

“I don’t know.”

Hank smiled. “Well,” he said. “That’s a start.”

**Author's Note:**

> may be part of a series. watch this space.


End file.
